For the Love of Money (52 page)

“Get out of here! From Hampton? Do I know her?”

“No, she went to Cheyney State, outside of Philadelphia, when I was back in high school.”

“Oh. Well, what did you say about it, because I
know
you had something to say,” she assumed.

“Actually, I was kind of in shock. I didn't know
what
to say.”

“Get out of here! You
always
have something to say.”

“Well, I tried to let her know that nothing is perfect with
any
man, especially those on the other side of the color line, but she said that she was happy with hers and showed me pictures of her two daughters. They even have African names. So what could I really say? I just have to get over it.

“I'll call her up soon and talk to her,” I added. “She told me that I shouldn't expect to treat her any differently, so I'll call her up and see if that's true.”

“I know you will,” Kendra said with a laugh.

“Well, I just wanted to call you back,girl, because I'm about to eat over here.”

“What are you having?”

“Hot and spicy chicken and shrimp.”

“Chinese food?”

“Yup.”

“Hmm, it
sounds
good, but I don't know
what
I can eat nowadays.
Sometimes I smell stuff that I
used
to like, and I feel like throwing up on the spot.”

I laughed and said, “Well, that's all a part of pregnancy, so I
hear,
because I've never
been
pregnant.”

Kendra didn't respond to that. She said, “Well, let me go and let you eat, and I'll talk to you later on in the week.”

Before she hung up I told her that I was up for a big lead in a psychological action film.

Kendra stopped and said, “I'm really proud of you, Tracy. You just didn't come out here to squeeze your way onto a couple of sets, you came out here to
run
the show!”

“Well, you know how we do it in Philly. We
always
go for the gold,” I bragged.

Kendra sucked her Baltimore teeth and said, “Here we go with that again.”

I chuckled and said, “All right then, I'll talk to you later.”

I hung up the phone, got out a big plate to eat my food, and sat down in front of the thirteen-inch television set in my kitchen to watch the entertainment channel. They were interviewing Halle Berry. She was still doing her thing in Hollywood, and she was still up and down with her love for the brothers. I couldn't feel sorry for her, because she was working her career like a charm. I did think about myself though. I was on my way to turning twenty-nine, one year away from thirty, with no permanent man.

Suddenly, a chill ran up the back of my spine and struck my brain.

“Damn!
Thirty,
with no family!” I mumbled to myself with food in my mouth. I couldn't talk the bullshit that there were no available brothers out there either, because I had close friends who were happily married.

I tried to keep eating and block it out of my mind. I thought about Kiwana again. Halle Berry had tried out the other side of the color line too, to get her Dorothy Dandridge role. Plenty of sisters were crossing the line. Could it happen to me in two or three more desperate years? I doubted it. It wasn't that I didn't
have
any men, I just had a hard time telling myself to stay with them while being committed to doing my own thing. Was it my fault for being a woman heavily into her own career? If it was, then that was too damn bad. The
real
brothers were into
their
careers, and no one seemed to have a problem with that. Thirty years old wasn't the end of the world anyway, so I finally
did
succeed in blocking it out. I had a script to turn in.

$   $   $

After turning in three copies of my completed script for
Road Kill
to The Don at his office that Monday morning, Susan took her copy, and I kept two for myself, including the original printout.

Susan called me at home that afternoon and said, “It looks like you had a field day on this thing. I might have to ask for a million for the script alone now,” she joked.

I said, “Well, what will the other guy get, you know, the director-writer?”

“I guess whatever his agent can get for him.”

I didn't like the sound of that. It didn't seem fair. It
was
the other guy's original screenplay, and I was still a practical woman. I didn't think that they would give us
both
a million.

I said, “Maybe we should split it down the middle, that way it would be fair.”

Susan said, “The only thing about that is, they may not be offering him that much money. You're a much bigger draw than he is, and that's just the way it goes in the business.”

I said, “Well, let's be creative. You tell them that if they give us the four million for the role, and a million for the script, we would be willing to split the script fee and pay the director his share, and then let his people negotiate whatever he's going to get for directing the film.”

Susan chuckled and said, “You're a saint, Tracy, you know that, right? Most people wouldn't care.”

It was very easy to understand how Hollywood movies began to cost so much.Money always became a major issue out there to fill up the ballooned egos of the stars, who seemed insatiable sometimes.

I said, “I just want to be able to live with myself. And if we get our ten percent gross in the deal, I
will
be.”

“Yeah, that check should be here any day now for
Led Astray,
” she told me again.

I didn't sweat it though. I knew what was coming to me, and I had earned it, so I didn't feel a bit of guilt about it.

$   $   $

For the rest of that week, I began to pick out and type up the possible poems that I would use in my sequel to
Flyy Girl.
I didn't pick out the deepest or necessarily my best poems, but just the ones that would fit the book. There
was no worse decision that could destroy art than to add things that shouldn't really be there. However, artistic precedents are sometimes set by the unusual, where everyone else begins to follow, leading to a new norm. I liked being special and ahead of my time anyway. I was used to it.

I began to search through other books that I could use as an example of how to piece my own book together with prose, narration, and poetry, and make it all work. However, I didn't want to make it too simple. Complications can make things a little harder to follow sometimes, and I wanted to be without peers, to stand out again, a fly in the buttermilk, the exceptional instead of the average. I didn't want anyone to be able to follow me, and if they did, it would be so obvious that they would only make it harder for themselves to gain any respectable recognition for it.

Susan called me Friday morning and asked me to meet her for lunch at Spago's, one of the hottest Hollywood meeting places, so I knew she had good news for me. When I arrived, she already had a table for us. As soon as I sat down, she passed me a white agency envelope with my name typed on it.

“Don't spend it all in one place,” she told me with a grin.

I opened it up and read the check in my name for $1,256,155, minus Susan's ten percent. I nearly stopped breathing.

“Shit!” I responded to Susan with shaky hands. “My
Flyy Girl
fans will
hate me
for this. I'll have to leave
this
part out of the sequel.”

Susan laughed and said, “Why? Everybody wants to be rich, and you've
earned
it.”

I said, “Yeah, I thought so too, but actually seeing the check with your
name
on it is enough to make you have doubts.” I felt as if someone would rob me before I even made it to the bank with the check. I had a sack of African diamonds in my hands with a gang of international smugglers after me. I was thinking of all kinds of crazy things with that much money in my hands.

Susan, however, got right back to business. She said, “Okay, well, here's the deal on the new film. We got two million for the role, a million for the script, and half of the script is split with the director-writer,
plus
they gave you the ten percent gross,
and
they're willing to give us the escalator clause for the next two films.”

“So, this is a three-film deal?” I asked her to make sure.

“With a minimum of two million dollars per film,” she responded. “They wouldn't give us the four million yet.”

I could not
believe it!
That was a guaranteed
six
million dollars,
plus
ten percent gross!

“I also negotiated a deal for any script that you work on, including films
that you don't star in, with a five percent gross on the
unstarred
films,” Susan added. It was all business to her, but I was sitting at the table in shock. I didn't even notice the waiter standing there to take our orders. I just told him to bring me more water before I fainted.

I joked, “Susan, before I walk out of here, can you call up a bodyguard service for me please?” I was having flashbacks of the many stickups that occurred in the streets of Philadelphia during my teen years. What would they do to me as a millionaire?! I was already paranoid.

Susan only laughed at me, but I was halfway serious. No wonder so many stars could not remain at ease in residential areas. You had a hell of a lot more to lose, so it became imperative to move to more secluded property. Even the home insurance people would advise that. I was thinking of relocating again, and I
liked
Marina Del Rey; it was very scenic and wide open.

After a few moments of my hushed silence and introspection, Susan asked me, “Do you really want me to get in touch with a bodyguard service for you? I can do that.”

I didn't answer her right away. Did I really want to give up my freedom to walk around?

I asked, “Are people going to publish how much money I'm making now?”

Susan read the concern in my eyes, and nodded slowly. “That's another catch-22 of Hollywood,” she told me. “If they give you that much money, it's automatic that they're going to talk about it to increase the buzz for your projects, because they have too much riding on you now. Once you sign this contract, you're a made woman, and they're going to want everyone to know that.”

I was in a coma. I really needed to get away and think to myself.

Susan said, “Tracy, I know that this puts a lot of pressure on you, but you're brave enough to deal with it, I
know
you are. It's just the initial shock that you're going through.”

I wasn't so sure if I could deal with it at all. I could barely deal with the
entry
level of stardom, let alone move up to the high B-list. I just kept staring into empty space while Susan's food arrived. The waiter asked me again if I was ready to order, and I told him to just bring me out some mild-flavored Buffalo wings or something.

Susan smiled and said, “Well, look at it all this way: they really liked your retooled script for
Road Kill,
so you should have a great time with the direction. And you'll know more on the set than anyone. It was because of
you
that they got the green light.

“You're really building up a track record as a go person,” she told me with a grin and a light slap on my arm.

With that, I was finally able to smile again, but just a little bit.

When I calmed down at home that evening, I called my little brother Jason three times before I finally caught him. He was rushing to make some party. He was nineteen and it was Friday night.

I said, “Pick out a nice car for yourself, but not your dream car. I'll get that for you when you graduate.”

“You got the role?! Did you make the changes I was talking about?!” he shouted at me.

I answered, “Yeah,
all
of them, and they
loved
it! You got us the green light, Jason. Thank you, baby! MMMM-MAA!” I kissed the phone.

He laughed and said, “You buggin'. So how much do I get for this?”

I paused and screamed, “GREEE-DEEE!”

My brother laughed again. We were both acting like kids at the circus.

“All right, well, I want a Lexus.”

“After you graduate,” I told him. “I don't want to spoil you.”

“Well, I got you the role, didn't I?”

I sighed. “Here we go,” I responded to him. “If you're gonna act like this, then forget that I even told you about it.”

“I would have found out when the movie came out anyway,” he said. “When are they gonna release it?”

“Next summer, after the spring and July blockbusters.”

“So like, in early August?”

“Exactly, if all goes well.”

“That's a good month.”

“I know. Maybe one day I can move up to July, and then June, and then May, the
real
blockbuster month!”

“GREEE-DEEE!” my brother mocked me.

I laughed, slowly getting over my initial shock of millionaire status.

“So, what can I get then?” he asked me about the new car.

I thought about it. “How about I get you a Ford Explorer, the two-door Sport in black?”

“Yeah, aw'ight, that's cool with me.”

I liked the Sport for my brother more than the four-door, because I wanted to try and limit how many friends he would pack in the car. Too many young black men in one car still spelled too much trouble in America. In fact, the color black was too intimidating. Maybe Jason would be better off in a green or gray vehicle, the less attention-getting colors.

When I hung up the phone with him, I felt like calling everyone else who loved me, just to ground myself in reality again, starting with my parents. I wouldn't tell them how much money I was going to make though. If the publications were going to announce it through the grapevine, then I'd just let everyone speculate and find out on their own. I planned to shoot the number down with complaints of taxes, overdo bills, run-up credit lines, bad stock investments, and anything else I could say to lessen the amount.